An Echo That Shouldn't Happen Again

The bell of the New Mythical Era rang, and the being who sat above the gray mist and held the Card of Fool fell asleep. The long table in the Tarot Club became cold. The young people who sat around it back then - Justice, the Hanged Man, the Magician, the Sun, the Moon, and the Hermit - have now reached the heights of their respective paths and are scattered around the world, but they are all looking for the same thing: a way to make the sleeping man open his eyes again. There are clues - extra handwriting on ancient artifacts, familiar symbols in midnight dreams. But the moment they traced it to the end, the familiar world collapsed behind them, and they fell into a strange world. This is a whole new world. Gas lamps, steam, and newspapers, at first glance, are somewhat similar to the homeland, but the deeper you go, the more something is wrong. The most wrong thing is that they themselves - the power that once made them almost become gods, is pitifully weak here. The people in this world do not practice a single path at all, but an unheard-of system that combines several forces into one. A lonely path is here, weak as a child. They, who were at the top of the sequence, turned into weaklings again overnight - but they happened to be the only people in the world who truly "understood" the path. The gray fog is still there. The long sleeping table could still shine with a glimmer of light in the strange world - as if someone was still maintaining them very weakly. Following this glimmer of light, they scattered across the country to find each other again and find a way to become stronger. But they still don't know who led them here. Little did they know that every time they took a step forward, the sleeping man's eyes would open a little.